


Make-Up

by mimosa-supernova (FourCatProductions)



Series: Femslash February 2020 [8]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Crushes, F/F, Mentioned Emily/Elliott, community theater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22768441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/mimosa-supernova
Summary: That spring, Elliott writes a play. By mid-May, he's roped half the town into helping put it on, and Haley's stuck doing make-up. It's not as bad as she anticipated.
Relationships: Haley/Leah (Stardew Valley)
Series: Femslash February 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626805
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	Make-Up

That spring, Elliott writes a play. By mid-May, he’s roped half the town into helping put it on. Haley tries to stay out of his way, and she mostly succeeds, until Emily drags her to a production meeting at the community center one night and ruins her summer.

It’s a boring meeting, everyone crowded on the squashy couches and old chairs while Elliott talks about his process and goes over the list of parts available for audition. Haley tunes it out after about five minutes and starts playing a game on her phone. She’s halfway through the next level of Stardrop Crush when she hears, “Haley can do it,” and snaps her head up so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash.

“What?”

“Make-up! For the play.” Emily beams, looking between her and Elliott. “You could do it, right? You’re so good at it.”

“Um,” Haley says. Her first instinct is to tell him that she doesn’t want anything to do with his dumb play, but she’d promised she’d at least try to give him a chance once Emily started dating him, and now everyone’s looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. She’s trying to figure out how to politely refuse when Emily grabs her hands and gives her the puppy-dog eyes, sad and hopeful all at once.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! I’m doing the costumes, so we can hang out more too. Please?”

“Fine,” Haley mutters, and immediately regrets it. Emily looks like she might levitate out of her seat with glee, shooting Elliott a triumphant glance.

“See? I told you you’d find someone.”

“Right.” Elliott doesn’t look less frazzled, but he does give Haley a little nod before reshuffling his papers. “Thank you, Haley. Now, onto set design…”

Haley sinks deeper into the beaten cushions, knees practically folded into her chest. From across the room, Leah catches her eye and gives her a sympathetic smile. Haley smiles back, fake as she’s ever felt, and wishes the couch would swallow her whole.

*****

The play, _Cybele_ , is about a thousand-year war between two kingdoms, concerning the fate of the world. The faeries, high up in their isolated palaces atop the clouds, see humans as a pestilence and wish to cleanse the world; the dwarves, deep in their citadel beneath the mountains, see themselves as guardians of the earth and those that live there. As a result of their unending conflict, the world has become barren and humans nearly extinct, save for a few remaining settlements. Cybele, the heir to the faerie throne, has a secret affair with the prince of the dwarves until they’re discovered together. He is killed and she is cast out; left to die, stripped of her title and powers, she strikes out to see the world on her own, and decide once and for all if it’s worth saving.

Haley finds it incredibly dorky, and even though she’s trying to keep an open mind, Elliott spends the first two weeks straight driving her up a wall. He has a hundred different ideas for how everyone should look, and about half of them are way too complicated for one person. It’s community theater, not Broadway. They’re arguing about it in front of the center one afternoon when Leah comes marching up the path, sketchbook under her arm.

“Here,” she says when she’s close enough, thrusting the book between them. “Elliott, calm down. Haley, this isn’t going to be easy, but I drew up some designs for the principle cast to help you out. Designs that should work for _both_ of you.” The second part is accompanied by a meaningful glance at Elliott. “Okay?”

Elliott flips through the sketchbook in silence for a moment, then sighs. “No, you’re right. Haley, I apologize. I’ve been dreadfully stressed about this whole thing.” He hands it to her. “Are these an acceptable compromise?”

Haley takes her time, lingering over each drawing before giving her answer. They’re more concepts than anything, color palettes scribbled in the corners, but they’re good – whimsical, while still being simple enough for her to execute on her own. She nods and hands the book back. “I can do that.”

“Marvelous,” Elliott says, weary. “Leah, darling, you’re a life-saver. Without you and Emily, I’d be bereft. Adrift on a sea of indecision.” Haley clears her throat. “Yes, yes, you too. Anyway. You’re still considering trying out for the lead, aren’t you? Say yes.”

“I might,” Leah demurs, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks are a little pink. “I’m sure you’ll find someone better, though. I’m not an actress.”

“Nonsense!” Elliott throws an arm around her shoulders. “You’re perfection itself. Now, come with me for a moment. I want your opinion on the set design…”

Haley watches them go, head buzzing with ideas for make-up and wigs. Suddenly watching the auditions seems a whole lot more interesting than sitting at home.

*****

“You have consorted with our sworn enemy, and pledged yourself to him. For this transgression, we cast you out, and sentence your betrothed to… um.” Harvey fumbles for a moment, squinting into the makeshift spotlight. “Line?”

“Death!” Elliott shouts from the armchair.

“Oh my god,” Haley says.

“Be nice,” Emily whispers, giving her a nudge. They’re sitting in the back of the room, where Haley’s free to roll her eyes as much as she wants. “He’s nervous.”

“Wow, really? I couldn’t tell.”

It’s the second day of auditions, and almost everyone in town wants to try out, for some reason. Probably because Elliott’s commissioned Robin to build an outdoor stage, and a friend of his is coming to see it, some two-bit playwright in Zuzu City. He’s also bringing his agent. Haley figures he must have asked the friend to come before the auditions started, because most of them are terrible. Not everybody – Gus is surprisingly good, and Granny Evelyn is perfect as the Wise Woman – but Elliott’s looking more and more distressed as the day wears on, slumped down in his seat. Haley refuses to feel sorry for him. It’s _community theater,_ he should know not to expect miracles. She’s half-asleep when Emily perks up next to her.

“Oh good, Leah decided to come after all. Elliott was worried she wouldn’t.”

Haley looks up before she can stop herself. Leah’s at the front of the room, still clutching the script. She looks around, gives an awkward wave with her free hand.

“Hi, everyone… I’m Leah, but you already know that. Obviously.” She lets out a nervous little laugh. “I’ll be reading for the part of Cybele.”

Haley’s flipped through the script, partly for inspiration and partly out of boredom, so she recognizes the scene Leah’s chosen. It’s from the end of the second act, when Cybele, having braved many dangers while wandering the wilderness, pleads with the wise woman of the settlement she finds to let her stay for even just a night. Despite their fear of the faeries, the wise woman feels compassion for her story and eventually agrees to let her stay. It’s the first kindness she’s been shown since she was cast out, and her tears of gratitude bring flowers to a barren land for the first time in centuries. It’s a surprising choice, at least to Haley – Leah’s never seemed like the emotional type.

She might not be in real life, but in that moment, up there on the milkcrates doubling as a stage, she comes alive. She slips into Cybele’s skin effortlessly, sincere and vulnerable, and with her and Evelyn going back and forth, weakening resolve and teary eyes, the whole thing suddenly seems less ridiculous. The room is dead quiet, except for Evelyn’s raspy whisper and Leah’s strained replies. Cybele’s request is granted, and she weeps. A roomful of applause drowns her out. Emily’s on her feet, Elliott looking like he might cry himself out of sheer relief, but Haley stays where she is, frozen in her seat. Emily plops back down beside her, practically vibrating with excitement.

“That was amazing, wasn’t it? I had no idea she could act.”

“Yeah,” Haley says, watching Leah wipe her eyes, laughing at something Elliott said. “She’s pretty good.”

*****

As it turns out, theater make-up is a little different than everyday wear, especially when there’s hair and wig styling involved. Haley spends the first couple weeks of rehearsals practicing, mostly on Emily, until she’s confident she won’t screw it up. The wigs are harder, but kind of fun, especially the ones for the dwarves and the faeries – crowns dripping with moss and berries, jewels woven into complicated braids, one studded with fake butterflies and another with antlers attached. She works on them at home and avoids the center when she can. Seeing Leah makes her feel weird now, and she doesn’t really want to think about why. But time always moves fastest when no one’s watching, and out of nowhere it’s the middle of July and dress rehearsals are starting.

Dress rehearsals mean a lot of things: checking costume fits and testing set pieces, last-minute hair and make-up revisions, Elliott having a meltdown on their couch every other night while Emily makes tea and soothing noises. It also means Haley spends a lot of time two inches from Leah’s face, dabbing on glitter and fixing false lashes. It would help if Leah did something to distract her, talked too much or had bad breath, but she never does. Just sits patiently and lets Haley do what she wants, watching her with cool green eyes.

“You’re good at this,” she says before the last rehearsal, leaning forward in her chair so Haley can pin her wig. It’s been teased and ratted so it fluffs out around her head in a silver cloud, antlers protruding from the top. Even without the make-up, she looks ethereal, and Haley almost wants to ask her what she’s doing here, why she left Zuzu for Pelican Town when she could make it anywhere. Why she’s bothering.

“Thanks.” She picks up a tube of foundation, pops the cap. The community center isn’t equipped for this kind of thing, so she’d had Alex and Elliott move her vanity into the crafts room until the play is over. “I’ve been practicing.”

She doesn’t know why she said that. Leah smiles.

“It’s nice of you to help out. I know your sister sort of threw you in headfirst.”

Every unkind thought she’s had about Elliott in the last month and a half pops into Haley’s head at once. She starts sponging foundation onto Leah’s forehead, trying not to look as guilty as she feels. “It’s no big deal.”

After foundation comes the important stuff, glitter and powder and silver highlights, and the longer she works the harder it gets to look at Leah directly. She looks alien, strange and beautiful and a little frightening all at once, and her profile catches the light when she turns to examine herself in the mirror.

“You know, I like this.” She touches one of the antlers. “I wasn’t sure at first, but I’m glad Elliott talked me into it.”

“Cool,” Haley says, and motions for Leah to look back at her so she can start applying lipstick. It’s supposed to shut her up for a minute so Haley can think, and it does, but if anything the silence gives her a little too much room; she follows the shape of Leah’s lips with her brush, staining them purple, and wonders what kind of print they’d leave against her skin.

*****

All three dress rehearsals are awful. Half the cast spontaneously forgets their lines, there’s at least one major wardrobe malfunction with the faerie court’s wings, and the main stage isn’t quite finished – the boiler at Clint’s burst, flooding the smithy, and Robin’s the only person within a fifty-mile radius qualified to handle it. According to Elliott, this is somehow a good thing.

“Traditionally, the worse a dress rehearsal is, the better the show itself,” he explains while they’re eating dinner that night, jabbing at a potato with his fork for emphasis. Haley just nods and hopes he’s right, because if this doesn’t go well he’s going to spend another month having a nervous breakdown on their couch, and she wants her living room back.

“Thanks for helping out,” Emily says afterwards, while he’s off in the kitchen doing dishes. Classical music plays in the background, muffled by running water. “I know it’s been a lot, but it’s kind of fun too, right?”

‘Fun’ isn’t the word Haley would use, but she’s finding she doesn’t hate it as much as she thought she would. “It’s alright,” she says, watching Emily put the finishing touches on Evelyn’s costume. The wise woman’s staff is propped up next to the TV, carved into a spiral and polished to gleaming. A bunch of acorns and dried berries dangle from the cap, tied off with hawk feathers and twine. “Did you make that?”

“Hm? Oh, no. Leah did. She made most of the props.”

“Oh.” Haley blinks. She knew Leah did some sculpture, but she’s never seen any of her work. “It’s pretty.”

“She’s very talented,” Emily says, then smacks her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Oh! She was asking about you the other day.”

It takes Haley an embarrassingly long time to formulate a response. “She was?”

“Mhm,” Emily says, but doesn’t volunteer any other information. An awkward beat passes before Haley scowls at her.

“So like… are you actually gonna tell me what she asked about?”

“She just wanted to know if you’d ever done theater make-up before,” Emily says innocently. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

“Shut up,” Haley says, sliding down in her seat. Her cheeks burn.

*****

The outdoor stage is finished with only a day to spare, but Haley has to admit, it looks good mounted in the clearing near the community center, a thicket of maple and spruce framed by its sparse wooden frame. Elliott had wanted the natural look, no pulleys or curtains – wanted it to look like a picture frame, so that the cast could move freely, surrounded by natural beauty. The final effect is a surreal one, a fragment of another world caught up in their own.

 _Ugh._ She’s been spending too much time around Elliott.

An hour and a half until showtime, and everyone’s in a panic but her. Elliott’s playwright friend is less than thirty minutes away, agent in tow, and she’s surrounded by flying fabric and a room full of overlapping chatter while everyone works to get in full costume fast as they can. Her hand’s already starting to cramp. She finishes up with Penny, shooing her out of the chair, and as soon as she scuttles off Leah appears, settling down in front of the vanity.

“Hi.” She’s already wearing her wig, which is something, and she tilts her head so Haley can adjust it as needed. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” Haley says automatically, circling her. “Pass me those bobby pins.”

Leah hands them over. “This is a lot of people to handle on your own.”

“What, you think I can’t do it?”

“It’s impressive, actually,” Leah says, the corners of her mouth twitching, and stops Haley’s temper dead in its tracks.

“Oh.” She sets the bobby pins down, picks them back up again. She probably should say something, like _thank you_ or _pass me the hairspray,_ but her brain is spinning its wheels like a truck stuck in a ditch and nothing’s coming out. Leah’s looking at her in the mirror, waiting. It’s no wonder Elliott wanted her to play Cybele. If she came out of the forest looking for shelter, Haley wouldn’t know how to turn her away. She fluffs the wig a little more, watches her reflection turn pink out of the corner of her eye.

“Haley?” Leah shifts in her chair. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Why did you take this role, anyway?”

She’s not sure why it matters – it probably doesn’t. It still seems important that she know. Leah’s expression is unreadable for a moment, but then she gives Haley a little smile in the mirror, chin propped up on her fist.

“I think it’s important not to get stuck in a rut. If I’m having trouble creating, it means I need to get out of my comfort zone.”

“Oh,” Haley says again, feeling like an idiot. Whenever she’s around Leah lately, all her words vanish, like someone’s plucked them right out of her mouth and refuses to give them back. She clears her throat, tries for more than one syllable. “That makes sense.”

“Well, that’s what this is for you too, isn’t it?” Leah’s eyes follow her as she picks up her make-up brush, unscrewing the cap on a jar of powder. “Getting out of your comfort zone.”

“I guess.” Maybe Leah’s right. She hasn’t been comfortable since this whole thing started. She starts in on Leah’s make-up, and for a while neither of them says anything, caught up in the rhythm of the brushes and the background noise. _I’m sorry,_ she wants to say, _I don’t know how to talk to people sometimes_ and _when I’m uncomfortable I get mean,_ but the words stick to her tongue. “It’s been kind of fun,” she finally gets out, when she’s lining Leah’s eyes. “Different than what I usually do.”

“It’s good to expand your horizons,” Leah agrees.

“Is that why you moved to Pelican Town? Expanding your horizons?”

Leah tilts her chin up so Haley can check that her false lashes are on securely. “Something like that.”

That’s as much as she’s likely to get, and she’s already pushed her luck enough, so Haley finishes up as quick as she dares. When she’s done, she dusts off her hands, gives her work a once-over. Leah looks perfect. She has to, or Elliott might snap. “There.” She’s not sure what to do with her hands now that’s she’s finished, so she fluffs Leah’s wig again, picking at non-existent tangles. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you.” Leah twists around in the chair. “You’re going to watch the play, right?”

Haley’s been asking herself the same question all day. When the whole thing first started, she didn’t think she’d bother, but lately, she’s starting to waver. She’s already doing the make-up, she might as well see how the final product turns out. Still, she isn’t quite sure until Leah asks and she hears, “Yeah, obviously,” crawl out of her mouth like it had been there all along.

“Good,” Leah says, and slides out of the chair, smoothing her bodice. She’s only an inch or two taller than Haley, but it feels like more when they’re standing this close. “I’ll look for you.”

“You will,” Haley says.

“Yeah.” Leah grins. “I will.” Her breath smells like mint leaves, ghosting across Haley’s cheek when she leans in. “Wish me luck?”

Her eyes are even prettier up close. In what world is this fair? Haley swallows, takes a step back. “Good luck.”

“Before a show, it’s ‘break a leg’.” She winks. “Elliott taught me that.”

“Right,” Haley says faintly, watching her go. “Break a leg.”

She’s definitely watching the stupid play.


End file.
